Breathless in the Victorian Era
by Mipiko
Summary: He's just so beautiful she could hardly breathe. . .Or it could be the corset. Dragged to do a reality TV show in England set in the 1700s is a lot harder than it seems with the lack of technology and a snobby brat, but it could prove fruitful in the end.
1. Surprise, Surprise

_Sunday_

_August 29_

_Early morning-ish_

_Seattle_

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

"Do you still have long hair? You haven't cut it since I last saw you?"

That's how it started: with an inquiry into the status of my hair. I hope that doesn't say something about how the whole thing is going to proceed. Hair is just so trivial. In the grand scale of things, that is―it's certainly important when it looks awful and you have to run to the store to pick up a fifth of whiskey and a bottle of Pamprin.

"Yes, I do still have long hair. I keep it up in a bun. Why?"

"Oh good, you'd hate the wig. I heard it smells. You have a valid passport too, right? Didn't you go to Mazatlán last year?"

I twined a strand of the aforementioned hair around my finger and glared at the phone. Why on earth had Lui called me to inquire about my hair and Mazatlán?

"Yes, I do and I did. What wig? Why are you asking me all these questions? And when did you get back? I thought you were in London working for PFX as an understudy?"

"Oh, I left them. They had no scope, no scope at all. I'm still in London, but I'm working for an independent channel now. Excellent! I knew you'd be perfect for this. I'm overnighting a package to you. You can read the notes and the rulebook on the plane, m'kay?"

I blinked a couple of times hoping it would aid my thought processes in straightening out the tangled mess of his conversation. It didn't help.

"What package? What plane? Lui, what are you talking about?"

He sighed noisily in my ear, then muttered something about never understanding women.

"It's all very faboo and you're going to love it and you won't believe the strings I had to pull to get this for you, but the job pays _ten thousand dollars_, and since I still owe you big time, I moved heaven and hell and got the job for you. You can thank me later; right now you have to pack. But not much, because they'll take your measurements on Tuesday and should have the basic necessities done by Wednesday, Thursday at the latest. You're still a sixteen, right? I can tell them that and they'll get started."

"Job? You got me a research job that pays ten grand?" My head swam at the thought of all that money. Bills, I could pay off the remainder of Luki's medical bills. And get the roof repaired. Maybe here would even be some left over so I wouldn't have to drive around on bald tires. The money would certainly come in. . . hey!

"What measurements? What basic necessities? Don't you _dare_ tell anyone I wear a size sixteen! I'll hang you by your balls if you do!"

He sighed again, then spoke very deliberate, enunciating carefully as if I was the one who wasn't making sense.

"The measurements are for the wardrobe, honey. I have to tell them your size so they know what sort of costumes to find―Rin was much smaller and her wardrobe wouldn't fit you. Of course, she had to wear the wig and you won't, so there are compensations. There's no research other than reading the rulebook, no genealogy other than you being the duke's wife. Now that we have that settled, are there any other questions? I'm on a very tight schedule and I have to get back to Leon and tell him you're a go then there's a million other things I have to take care of. You just have no idea how busy I am."

I breathed heavily through my nose for a moment, then said, just as carefully and as slowly, "Lui, you're quite, quite mad, aren't you? Or drunk. Whichever it is, I don't have time for this game."

"Don't be ridiculous." This was said in his usual sharp, quick manner. "You can't tell me that the genealogical research business is so brisk that you can't take a month off to film a television show, especially not when there's ten big ones for you at the end of it. Get hopping, Aki. Your plane leaves tomorrow night at. . ." There was a faint sound of paper rustling over his muted mumblings. ". . . I know that lovely little bit of crumpet wrote it down here somewhere―such a scrumptious boy, but no brains whatsoever. . . Ah! Here it is. Yes, as I thought, your plane leaves at six tomorrow night. Gives you all the time in the world to pack and tie up loose ends, But don't pack too much, you wont' need any clothing unless you want to stay after the show's over."

"Lui, I haven't the slightest idea―"

"I've told you and told you! It's a TV show!"

I blinked a half dozen more times, then rallied my wits. "You got me a job on a TV show? An English TV show?"

"Yes, yes, a thousand times YES! All you have to do is be the duke's wife. It's very simple; even a child could understand it. Honestly, honey, you need to make a little more effort to pay attention. I don't want Leon thinking you're not fit to be duchess."

I slumped down into a nearby chair, staring sightlessly out the window at the cows wandering through the tall yellow flowers in the pasture across the street from me. Violet-green swallows swooped and dove, tracing an intricate aerobatic roller coaster pattern in the early morning air, but their loops and twirls and midair twists had nothing on Lui's conversational manner. A few deep, calming breaths later, I was able to start figuring out what he was trying to tell me. "Lui, dear heart, you are aware I'm not an actress, yes?"

"They don't want actresses, silly! They want real people and you're perfect for the part because of your ancestors."

"Ancestors? I'm mainly Japanese!"

I rubbed my forehead. Undergoing a conversation with Lui was never something I took lightly. I didn't wait for him to answer me.

"Okay, so you got me a job involving no genealogical research despite the fact that that's the only thing I know how to do, a job that pays a lot of money for a month's work. Exactly what am I supposed to do for a month on a TV show if not act?"

"Did you clean your ears this morning? I TOLD YOU! You're the duke's wife! Your job is to give him an heir in exchange for his title."

I was floored. I fell out of my chair. "WHAT? ! Lui, I'm thirty-nine years old! I'm too old to have children! And I don't even know this guy!"

"Aki, honey, now you're being obtuse―"

"I'm sorry for being so picky, but I'd like to know a man before I go about trying to give him an heir!"

"It's the TV show! You're an American heiress who's marrying the duke for his title. Just like that one you told me a bit. . . what's her name. . . Constance Vanderbilt?"

"Consuelo Vanderbilt," I said slowly, the fragments of what he was saying starting to coalesce in my mind. I crawled back into the chair. "You mean the TV show is about a duke with an American wife?"

"Yes, yes, that's what I've been saying!"

"And they want me to play this part because Consuelo Vanderbilt and I shared an ancestor ten generations ago?"

"At last! I was starting to wonder if you'd given away your brain and filled your head with pudding."

I ignored the slur and concentrated. Hard. "Why would an English TV company want an American with a tenuous―and there are probably millions of people who share the same relationship with Consuelo that I have―relationship with a long-dead heiress to act in their show?"

"you won't be acting, not really. It's one of those reality shows. Didn't I tell you that? They're filming everyone for a month, sort of a social history experiment to see how common people, nonactors that is, deal with living the Victorian lifestyle. There's a whole staff of sixteen to take care of you, servants you know, butlers and footmen and maids and all that. You'll love it. You won't have to lift a finger to do anything."

"A reality show?" I said slowly. "You mean like the one they did on PBS where people lived in a turn-of-the-twentieth-century house for a couple of months and a film crew followed them around as they went about their 1900-ish business?"

"Exactly!" Lui's voice was replete with relief, but I was still confused.

"It sounds interesting and all, but I don't quite see why you think they'd want me to play the part of a duchess."

"Leon d'Aspry―he's the producer; we went to Oxford together―is trying for realism as much as he can. Everyone hired has some sort of link to the part they'll play. Tonio, for instance, he's the duke and is he _gorgeous_! Girl, I wet my pants just thinking about him! Tonio is a descendant of the Duke of Bridgewater. Fifth cousin once removed or something like that. It was his ancestors who lived in Worston Old Hall, which is where the shooting takes place. Big old place, lots of oak and marble. You'll love it. Anyway, Leon told me to find an American heiress, the ones you were telling me about a couple of years ago when you were researching them, so I immediately thought of you."

"The dollar duchess," I said, still trying to absorb everything he was tossing at me. It was a lot to swallow. So much, I started choking immediately. "All those American heiresses marrying English peers―it was fascinating research. . . I'm flattered you thought about me for this, but there's two major problems."

He sighed again, a big, heavy, dramatic, long-suffering sort of sigh that was supposed to impart to me just how much I was trying his patience. I didn't pay any attention to it.

"What problems?"

"First off, you never went to Oxford. You're still too young."

"Oh. That. I thought it sounded better saying Leon and I went to Oxford rather than he being my boy toy when we were both in L.A., thanks to sissy Ring dear. What's the second problem?"

I hesitated to say it, but of all my friends, Lui was the least judgmental. I might be uncomfortable with my appearance, but I knew he honestly didn't think anything about it, which just made it harder for me to explain to him why it wasn't at all possible for me to fly halfway around the world to pretend to be the wife of a man so gorgeous, he made other men wet their pants.

"Lui, I just can't, I'm. . . I'm too big. . ."

"No you're not. Toni's tall―waaay taller than me―and I'm pretty close in height with you."

I ground my teeth. I hated this. "Not tall. . . big. As in hefty. Chunky. Plump plus. _Beyond chubby into the land of fat_."

He laughed―he actually laughed at me. I bristled and thought lovingly about slamming the phone down in his ear.

"Don't be stupid! You'll have a corset! That and the long skirts will take care of anything you're worried about."

"But―"

"Just bring yourself and your glorious hair, and let the wardrobe people do the rest."

"But―"

"I'm overnighting you the rule book. Oh, and I thought of something to make this even more attractive! You know those journals you're always keeping about stuff happening to you? Start a new one today and record everything that happens. I bet you'll be able to sell it later for oodles of money! The show is bound to be a hit, and I can almost guarantee you that publishers will beat down your door to find out all the behind-the-scenes happenings of a real-life duchess."

"But―"

"Must dash. Piko, that darling but unfortunate heterosexual boy, just popped his head in and waved his hands around, which means one of the studio people is on the other line. I'll see you tomorrow! Toodle pip and all that crap!"

The line clicked twice, then went dead.

I stared at the receiver in my hand for another minute before hanging up. Corsets? Long Victorian skirts? A duchess? _Me? _

And just who was Rin?

* * *

><p>AN:

It's about time I posted this up. Or that's what my friend's say. Now, this is going to be something very new to me, and this will quickly swap to rated-M in little time. Unfortunately. This has been something that we've been working on together (since I'm the only one with an account on here and the one who actually spawned this idea is too lazy to make her own), we're going to go ahead and do it one mine. But I actually don't mind it that much since I actually like Tonio and Aki-chan together. . . /*shot

In any case, I hope you guys will come to like this, even once we get to those. . . scenes. *grimaces*

And one more thing, this will be put in a diary sort of format, so yeah, 1st POV, all in Aki-chan's.


	2. Hell Ride

_Monday_

_August 30_

_After dinner_

_Airplane over Canada_

* * *

><p>Well, I'm here. On a plane. Flying to London to meet an old friend who has arranged for me to take part in something I'm sure I'll regret. But damn, the money is just too good to refuse, especially for someone who makes a (pitiful and never enough to cover the bills) living finding baby boomers' roots for them I'm taking Lui's advice and starting a new journal, which you know if you're reading this, because that means I survived this "social history experiment", one I suspect is going to be nothing so much as hell for me.<p>

I am _not_ a corset-wearing sort of person, despite my avid interest in history. And a duchess? Ha! I bet there's not one single duchess who had to max out her credit cards to prepay her bills for the next month. I will say that this Leon d'Aspry, television producers and former Hollywood play thing, is a very well organized sort of guy, I could tell. The rule book that Lui overnighted me is absolutely fascinating. I dug out a couple of Victorian etiquette books I bought on eBay (the researcher's best friend) and double checked a couple of the items that jumped out at me, but they were correct. Which is kind of scary, considering the sort of stuff this show wants me and the others to do.

Lui also enclosed a fact sheet about the show, which filled in some but not all the empty space he'd left in his explanation. It explained who Rin was (another person related distantly to American Old Money), but not what happened to her. I didn't want to tell Lui because his head is fat enough, but this was exactly the sort of thing I've always wanted to do. I love Victorian history, especially English Victorian History, and what dedicated Anglophile wouldn't jump at the chance to stay in a bona fide English stately home?

There is the corset issue, of course. But if I agree to do the job―I haven't signed anything yet, and won't until I talk more to Lui and his friend Leon―I'm sure I'll find a way around it. Then again, maybe Leon won't want to hire me once he sees me. Well if that's the case, I'll just hang around London for a couple of days, then go home. No problem. Nothing like a little vacation to brighten up a dull year, is there?

Oh, who am I kidding? I'll die of embarrassment if he turns me down. Why, why, why did I get on this plane? Why did I believe Lui? No corset in the world is going to hide all my fleshy bits! The whole idea is ridiculous! No one is going to want a fat duchess. GAH!

* * *

><p><em>Monday<em>

_Still August 30_

_Even later after dinner_

_Airplane over. . . um. . . polar cap, I think_

* * *

><p>How mortifying. The flight attendant turned vicious when I politely requested they turn the plane around or at least drop me off somewhere before they land in London. I mean, how hard can it be to find an airport between here and England? It can't take up that much gas or time! I <em>am<em> a paying customer after all. Kind of. I didn't pay, the TV company did, but still, someone paid for my ticket and that's what really matters.

This doesn't bode well for the rest of the trip.

* * *

><p><em>Monday―or maybe it's Tuesday now<em>

_August 30/31, depending on your time zone_

_Post-movie _(Sleepless in Seattle)

_Row 12, seat A, over Greenland, according to Bob the pilot_

* * *

><p>I can't believe the sort of bullies they hire as flight attendants nowadays. I know they've cracked down on security and everything, but this has nothing to do with the safety of the airplane, it's crew, or the passengers. Hilda Senshi, flight attendant henceforth known to one and all as Hilda the Hun, is on my list. I'm going to formally complain about her not only threatening to take away my frequent flyer miles (she can't do that, can she?), but also the fact that she snapped at me <em>and<em> pushed me back into my seat when all I did was ask about the possibility of parachuting out of the plane so I don't have to be humiliated when Leon, after bursting into hysterical laughter upon seeing me, suddenly starts chanting "Fat, fat, the water rat!" as he dances around me.

I don't even think she even asked Bob the pilot about dropping me off somewhere. I'm going to ask one of the other flight attendants, the ones who aren't Hun-like, if one of them will ask Bob for me. He sounds nice. I bet he will.

* * *

><p><em>Monday, Tuesday, who knows<em>

_August whatever_

_Middle of the friggin' night_

_Airplane from hell_

* * *

><p>Hilda the Hun just leaned over the old lady next to me to tell me that if I bother one more flight attendant, she'll see I get off the plane. . . in the middle of the ocean, without a parachute.<p>

Bitch is _so_ going to get reported!

* * *

><p><em>Tuesday (figured that out with the help of the guy sitting in front of me)<em>

_August 31_

_Early morning U.K. time/middle of the night Seattle time_

_Chained to my seat, plummeting earthward from thirty thousand feet if a certain flight attendant had her way_

* * *

><p>All right, so I've given up all hope of getting off the plane before reaching England's fabled shores. I'm coping with the fact that I'm in for nothing but disappointment, embarrassment, and the sharp pain of rejection once Leon sees me. I don't like it, but I'm coping, and that's gotta give me some sort of cosmic brownie points.<p>

To distract myself from the horror that awaits me once Lui picks me up at Heathrow, I read a bit more of the rule book. the fist part basically covered the same stuff the fact sheet does:

**A MONTH IN THE LIFE OF A VICTORIAN DUKE**

(snappy title, huh?)

_Presented to you by U.K. Alive! Britain's fastest growing television studio, this fascinating new series takes you into the lives of Victorians in a way that will startle and surprise you. Twenty-four volunteers from around Britain will join together to breathe new life into the stories of the wealth, glamour, and power that defined England's ruling class one hundred and twenty-five years ago._

Wealth, power, and glamour, huh? So far so good.

**Historical Accuracy is a Must at U.K. Alive!**

_Filmed entirely at Worston Old Hall in Cheshire, one of the many (now extinct) Duke of Bridgewater's many estates, a modern-day descendant of the duke brings his family to re-create the life as it was for the landed gentry. How would you behave if you were suddenly whisked away from the stresses of everyday life and put down in a world where you had seemingly limitless power and wealth, a world where you only had to lift a finger to have any desire fulfilled? Tonio Edgerton, an architect from Bristol, will soon find out as he assumes the role of the fifteenth Duke of Bridgewater, newly wed to a charming (and rich) American heiress. The role of the new Duchess of Bridgewater is assumed by Rin Kagamine, a descendant of the famed American Astor family. Joining Mr. Edgerton are his real-life daughter, fifteen year-old Prima, his sister, Kumi Angel, and his brother-in-law, Sol Nichiion._

Oh, great. He's bringing his whole family. Sure, he'll have the comfort of everyone he loves around him, but what'll I have? I don't know why I'm worrying. I won't fit into the corset. They'll send me home after just one look. Damn my genes. This sounded like it would have been fun.

**Downstairs is a Much Different World**

_But what if you weren't born with the proverbial silver spoon in your mouth? What if you were one of the 1.5 million people in service in September 1879? Would you be able to accept life dominated by the complicated hierarchy and rules servants had to follow, not to mention working without modern devices? We'll join sixteen volunteers who come to Worston Old Hall with no experience of what it means to be a servant. Only the cook and coachman have actual working knowledge of what it takes to fill their jobs. Join Kim Shou the butler and Demo Mane the housekeeper as they struggle with the responsibility of turning the nice lower servants from modern, twenty-first-century volunteers into a team who work with Victorian precision and efficiency._

I couldn't help but wonder if I would be on the plane at that moment if the job I had been offered was that of scullery maid. . . Well, that didn't take long to ponder. For ten thousand dollars, yes, I'd wash dishes for a month.

**No Mobile Phones, No Toothpaste**

(No toothpaste? GAH!)

_For four weeks the entire household, from duke to scullery maid, will function just as houses of the nobility did in 1879. Each volunteer has foresworn modern machines and technology, agreeing instead to adhere steadfastly to Victorian standards of behavior, following with strict obedience the rules of manners of the time._

Okay, so that meant what? No smoking if you were a woman, chaperones for unmarried woman, couldn't mention anything remotely approaching, a sexual subject without couching it in terms so obtuse that no one really knew what you were talking about, smelling salts and fans, and. . . Oh, those poor people playing the servants! From what I could recall reading about the Victorians, they really had a hard time. Oi. Maybe it's a good thing they needed an American-descent Japanese woman to be the duchess. . . that's assuming I get the job, which I won't once Leon sees me.

Hmmm. . . Maybe if I slipped Bob the pilot a plaintive note and twenty bucks he'd stop in Ireland so I could sneak off?

**Everyone in Their Places **

**and a Place for Everyone**

_Toughest of all rules for our brave volunteers downstairs will be the detailed and intricate hierarchy that governs the servants. How will our free-willed volunteers cope with being told who can speak and when, who must defer to whom, and how they must interact with the family above stairs? Most importantly, how will they deal with their loss of freedom?_

If I do get the job (and I won't; I've sen the pictures of Consuelo Vanderbilt and all the other dollar duchesses―almost all of them were skinny little things), I'm going to be extra-special nice to the poor people downstairs.

_Everyone in Worston Old Hall has a place set down for them by hundreds of years of societal norms and more―everyone from the duke in his smoking room to the third footman as he carries out the slops will keep to his place. Join us for four scintillating weeks as we examine how this group of modern-day freethinkers change into their Victorian counterparts. Will a _Month in the Life of a Victorian Duke_ prove to be heaven. . . Or hell?_

"Holy cow!"

The woman next to me, a nice elderly English lady who chatted very politely with me for the first twenty minutes of the trip then pulled out a book and left me alone for the duration, moved restlessly. Most of the passengers on the plane were asleep by this time, the lights dimmed, blankies and pillows having been handed out, but I had remained awake to read the packet of my info Lui had sent. I angled my reading lamp away from my seatmate so I wouldn't disturb her while I read, but I guess my exclamation must have been louder than I thought because she sat up and cast me a questionable glance.

I tilted toward her the eight-by-ten glassy that had been shuffled between consent forms.

"Is that your sweetheart?" she asked, making a little moue of appreciation at the photo.

I pursed my lips in a soundless whistle and shook my head. "Just a guy I might work with."

Lui was right; the man was absolutely gorgeous―black, black hair that waved back from a not-too-high forehead, startling light blue eyes that glittered from beneath his black eyebrows, a nice if slightly rueful smile, and a gently blunted chin that for some reason made my stomach flutter and my legs go weak. For a moment, I mulled over that reaction to a mere picture, then chalked it up to not having dated in the three years since Luki died. Lack of sex will sometimes make you a little swoony.

There was also a photo of a woman; blonde, pretty heart-shaped face, big bright blue eyes, and thin, thin, thin. In other words, as completely different from my pinkette, slightly freckled face, large self as she could be. It was Rin, the woman originally cast to play the part of wife to the drool-worthy duke, a woman who looked absolutely perfect for the part, a woman who would look even more perfect next to the black-haired Adonis. Seen together, it would be infinitely believable that the duke would have chosen her from all the women to be his wife, the woman to bear his children, mother to his daughter, friend, help-meet, lover. She was in a word, _flawless_.

I _really_ want to go home. I only stayed in America for two weeks for pete's sake!

* * *

><p>AN:

I guess that I'll place the A/N's on the bottom of this story. Not sure why, but I felt like doing it like this. And how was the description of Tonio? ouo"


	3. Olives, galore!

_Tuesday again  
>August 31<br>Nine in the morning U.K. time; Post-breakfast  
>Still on the plane (will this flight never end?)<em>

* * *

><p>Breakfast was a dismal affair—potted meat and black bread and a pastry and yogurt. Not that I expected haute cuisine in tourist class, but still! Some fruit might have been nice. And of course, my breakfast tray was thrown to me over Mrs. Eiga (my elderly seatmate) by the Hun. She also deliberately tried to spill coffee on me when she poured it, but I was too quick for her. Ha! Triumphant at last. Just wait until the head of the airline gets my letter about her.<p>

Mrs. Eiga turned out to be a gold mine of information. Seems when she was a "little gel," her parents had servants galore. She had a nanny, of course, and she remembers the housemaids smoking and chatting in the servant's hall. I asked her questions about how her mother dealt with the servants, but she was less helpful there.

"What did you think of the servants?" I asked, and held up a photocopy of the cover for _The Glory of Womanhood_, a Victorian ladies' book that had been included in the packet of material form the studio. "The book says,'Conduct toward servants should be always equal, never violent, never familiar. Speak to them always with civility, but keep them in their proper places.' Did your family treat them in that way?"

She raised one carefully penciled eyebrow. "Naturally. One is kind to one's servants, but one does not desire familiarity with them."

Well, that put me right in my place. And with great timing, too, since Bob the pilot just announced we're approaching Heathrow. Oh, lovely. My life is about to end. Fabulous.

Maybe I'll fall and break my arm in the airport and have to be taken to a hospital for lengthy arm repair surgery, hence making it impossible for me to meet Leon. Maybe Lui will forget to pick me up, leaving me no way to get in contact with him or Leon.

Maybe the passport guys won't let me into the country, and Leon won't have the opportunity to reject me in person.

Maybe I should just get a grip.

* * *

><p><em>Still Tuesday<em>  
><em>August 31<em>  
><em>9:14 PM, England time<em>  
><em>Room 722, Hyde Park Hilton<em>

* * *

><p>Well. I'm still here. More than a little groggy and jet-lagged, not to mention bemused, but still here.<p>

Lui was at the airport waiting for me when I came through customs. He looked the same as he always did—short, cute, confident, adorable, with a smile that always made me think he was laughing secretly at something only he found funny.

"Aki-chan! At last! I've waited forever for you! Mwah!" He planted a sloppy wet kiss on my cheek then held me at arm's length to give me a brisk once-over. "You look like hell, honey, you really do."

My shoulders slumped as I crossed a protective arm over my torso. "Thanks just oodles, Lui. You sure know how to make a girl feel good."

He laughed and waved his hands toward the luggage I'd set down to hug him. "Len, be a lamb and take those, will you? Now, you know what I meant by_ look like hell_. Your hair! Aki-chan, love, I've told you time and time again—a little color is not a bad thing! No one likes that dull shade of pink. A nice magenta cellophane, that's what you need."

"Rose pink, definitely rose," a slim young man with copious piercings said as he grabbed my two bags. "It's a lot warmer. It would go with her skin tone better than magenta."

The two men eyed me for a minute, their heads tipped to the side just like they were symbiotic twins, then Lui shook his head, _tsked_, and grabbed my arm to steer me toward the park. "It's not important, honey. Now, you've read the rule book, yes?"

"No. Just some of it."

"Excellent," he said, obviously not paying the slightest bit of attention to me as he pushed me through the doors toward a dark tunnel leading to the parking. "Let's see, it's two now, and you have a fitting at four. . . Yes, we have time for lunch. Len?"

"Right behind you, Luis," Len answered.

"We'll stop at the Cock and Cow for a bit of lunch, then go to the studio."

When Len was busy stuffing my luggage into the trunk, Lui turned around to look up at me and whispered, his gaze resting with wicked intent on the older man, "Isn't he delicious? Such a help, he is. You have simply no idea how useful I find him."

"Mmm," I said. "I bet you do. He's awfully. . . pierced, don't you think? I mean, don't you think having his eyebrow, ears, and lower lip pierced is going a bit too far?"

Lui snickered and herded me to the side of the car, his voice low and soft as velvet as he whispered,"His tongue is pierced, too. I can't even begin to tell you how much I enjoy that!"

"Right. I think we're dipping into the realm of _too much information_, so I'll let that pass. About lunch—I couldn't possibly eat. I think I'm going to be sick as is. Could we just skip all the stuff and go straight to the part where I meet this Leon guy and he takes one look at my fleshy form and laughs hysterically, wiping his eyes long enough to send me home?"

"Stop it. Leon's going to love you," he said as he shoved me into the backseat. I scooted over so he could sit next to me. "You're perfect for the job, just perfect! You have every quality he's looking for. You're intelligent—"

"Thank you," I murmured, flattered and disbelieving at the same time.

"—and you know tons about history and all that stuff—"

"Well, it _was_ my major in college."

"—and you're of American descent, of course, and related to the Vanderbilts—"

"Distantly," I pointed out. "Very distantly. And so are a lot of other people."

"—and most importantly of all, you're the only one who's free."

He went on another minute, giving less and less believable reasons why Leon the producer would love me, but I was stuck on the last point.

"What do you mean I was the only one who's free? You said that you moved heaven and hell to get me this job, and now you're saying the only reason I'm being considered is because no one else can do it? I wasn't your first choice?"

"Oh, look, we're coming into town. That didn't take long, did it? Traffic around here is normally in the pits. How much father to the Cock and Cow, Len?"

I sat back and thought about giving in to a pout. The way Lui evaded my question was answer enough—obviously, I was not the first choice as a replacement. Of course I wasn't. What was I thinking?

Lunch looked good. I don't know what it was, because I decided the only way I was going to get through the day was if I had a little liquid courage, so accordingly, I drank my lunch. I poured martini after martini down my throat until a blessed numbness set in. Lui stopped me after the third one, which may not sound like much, but trust me, for me it was. By the time Lui caught me sucking the last bit of gin from the olive's toothpick, it was too late.

"I like olives. Don't you like olives? I really like olives. They're so. . . olivey," I said to him as he hauled me outside where Len was waiting with the car. "Olive. Even the name is good. Oooooooooooooooliiiiiiiiiive. Isn't that nummy? You're nummy, too, Lui. It's just too bad that you don't like girls and that you're too young. You have a really nice face." I gave said face a pat, just to show him that I really liked it and wasn't just saying it to be nice.

Lui shoved me into the car, muttering under his breath something about people who have no tolerance for alcohol knowing better than to drink martinis.

"But I'm better now," I protested, wondering how one of my legs found its way onto his lap. "I never used to be able to drink, but I can now, I've been practicing. I can have a whole bottle of beer without getting silly now, and I couldn't do that when we shared that apartmen' on Queen Ann Hill. 'Member that apartmen'?"

"Remind me never to volunteer to help Leon again, will you?" Lui asked Len. He pushed my leg off of his lap. "And as soon as we get to the studio, I want you to have some coffee—black—and bring it to the wardrobe room. Six or seven cups of it."

I tipped my head back and started singing "Werewolves of London."

Lui shuddered. "Make that twenty cups."

Thankfully, the buzz from the martinis lasted through the horrors of having to stand in my underwear in front of Lui and a couple of wardrobe ladies while they measured every conceivable stretch of my skin.

They shoved a couple of dresses on me, but I don't remember about them except they were scratchy and uncomfortable. Lui let me have a little nap on a ratty old armchair in one of the wardrobe rooms while various people came up and held bits of material against my cheek to see what looked good.

The buzz, unfortunately, was gone by the time he shook me awake, and frog-marched me, dizzy and a bit queasy, down the hall, up a flight of stairs, and into a plush carpeted room dark with heavy mahogany furniture, lightened by a lovely view of the Thames.

Before I could open my mouth to protest Lui's brutality of dragging me from a sound sleep, a man who appeared to be in his late thirties, early forties with surprisingly thick blond hair—has to be a toupee—looked up from the massive desk I was pushed before. My stomach seemed to keep moving long after I stopped.

"Oh, there you are! Hello Akikoroid, I'm Leon d'Aspry. Lui has told me so much about you. I'm delighted that you're joining our team—relieved actually, because we start filming tomorrow and what's the story of a duke's life without his duchess by his side?" Leon came around the desk while he was speaking, his voice clipped in a manner of reminiscent of expensive schooling. He took my hand in both of his to simultaneously pat and shake it. He was about four inches shorter than me; not terribly unusual as I'm almost six feet tall. "I know you'll have a grand time, just a grand time. You're going to love everyone and the house! It's glorious! Lui tells me you're quite the devotee of history, so you should have no trouble adapting to the lifestyle. You've read the rule book and introductory material?"

I blinked at him and swayed the tiniest bit while I let his words trickle through the fogged mass that was presently acting as my brain. "Um. Some of it."

"Good, good. We just need you to sign a few releases—merely a legality, I assure you—then I'm sure you'll want to have a bit of rest before the evening's fittings, the audition and, of course, you'll want to read up on the rest of the volunteers for the program."

Fittings? Auditions? He wanted me for the part? He saw me and he still wanted me? Maybe his eyesight was bad. I held up my hand and waved it before his face. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Behind me, Lui groaned. Leon frowned at me, then frowned at my fingers. "Three. Is there a reason why you're asking me that?"

Oh, God, now I'd painted myself in a corner. If I said no, he'd think I was an idiot, the kind of lunatic who waved her fingers around and asked people to count them. If I said yes and explained that he couldn't possibly want me to be the duchess, I'd have to explain why, and if I had to discuss my overflowing abundance of flesh with one more person, I'd scream. My brain was still feeling fuzzy from the martinis, but I figured the truth was probably the best bet. I'd rather be thought self-conscious than a boob. "Ummmm. . . It's just that. . . well. . ." I waved a hand up and down my torso.

"Honey, I've told you and told and told you a thousand times, you're just perfect for this role!" Lui hurried forward and grabbed my hand. "She has this idiotic idea that she's too fat for the part."

"_LUI!_" I smacked him on the arm. How could he come right out and say the word with no creative euphemisms or polite skating around the issue? "The word _fat_ is politically incorrect. I'm skinny-challenged, thank you."

Leon eyed me up and down, from nose to toes, then back up to my head. "I don't see a problem."

I wanted to kiss him.

"Most of the aristocracy were pudgy. All that rich living, you know."

The kiss shriveled up on my lips. "Pudgy?"

He gave me a quick grin. "Sorry. Skinny-challenged. Besides, you have your own hair. I would hate to go through the wig trauma again." He shuddered delicately as he spoke.

I was hired because of my hair? Yes, it was long and fairly thick, but it also had a mind of its own and was an uninspiring plain old pink color. I toyed for a moment with the idea of being righteously indignant that it wasn't for my meaningful qualities that I was asked to fill the role, then realized just how stupid that would be. I was getting the job! I'd be out of debt at long last! I'd get to be a duchess for a month! Best of all, I'd get to have that handsome blue-eyed man for a pretend husband for a month! A whole month! My stomach did another somersault at the thought, an action that left me swallowing hard to keep things where they belonged.

"And speaking of that, you've met the wardrobe people, yes? Wonderful team we have here, all experts in their field and very keen on historical accuracy. I'm sure you'll be utterly delighted with the wardrobe they created for you, but if you have particular likes and dislikes, do tell them. Of course, you're absolutely free to pick and choose what you wish to wear each day. More authentic that way, you understand." Leon waved me toward the tall wine-colored leather armchair as he perched on the edge of his desk. I stumbled and half-fell into the chair. Lui took the matching chair, sitting with an elegance and suavity that I felt far escaped my perspiring, rumpled, sleep-riddled, queasy lump. "Our goal with the_ Month in the Life_ project is absolute accuracy and authenticity in every facet of life. To that end, we're asking each participant to not only live without items that were created after 1879, but to live by the societal precepts of the mid-Victorian era. Manners, values, etiquette, social interactions—all must conform to the standards the Victorians lived by. Are you willing to do that?"

I blinked a couple of times and carefully cleared my throat. "I'm tolerably familiar with that period, so I don't imagine it will be a problem, although I'm not an expert by any means."

"That's why we included a copy of The Glory of Womanhood in the project material. If you have any questions about how you should deal with the servants, which fork to use when, how to have a tea for your friends, when you should go visiting, that sort of thing, it's all covered in the book. And just to get you started, we've made up a list of everyone's duties, from the duke right down to the scullery girl. That's in the packet, as well, and I urge you to become familiar with it, because as the mistress of the house it will be your duty to interact with the housekeeper to make sure the house is run smoothly. You are ultimately responsible for the servants and their well-being."

I kept my eyes fixed on his left cheekbone and nodded slowly. If I looked anywhere else, the room seemed to dip and sway, taking my stomach with it.

"Now, regarding the filming—please, please ignore the presence of the cameramen and the sound people. They will do their best to be invisible—and, of course, you'll have absolute privacy in the bedroom and loo—so I'm sure that after a short time you won't even notice they're there. We want you to act just as naturally around them as you would should you be alone, strictly keeping within the guidelines of a Victorian duchess, of course," he laughed. "No turning your hand to a bit of dusting or putting a room to rights."

I gave him a weak smiled. Did he honestly think I cherished housework to the point I'd want to do it on what amounted to a month long luxury vacation? "That won't be a problem."

"Good. You may, of course, bring any cherished mementos—black-an-white photos and the like—but we ask that everyone stick strictly to period reading. Worston Old Hall has quite an extensive library, which we've supplemented with reproduction and original periodicals and newspapers, so you should have a variety of reading material to choose from. Along those lines, we ask that you not bring any paraphernalia that is not period."

"Paraphernalia?" I asked, my mind more on keeping my stomach in order than with what he was saying. "What sort of paraphernalia?"

He spread his hands wide. "Anything you can think of that wouldn't have been available to the Victorians—mobile phones, Biros, electric razors, hair dryers, that sort of thing."

"Oh. I have a journal and a couple of pictures, but that's it other than my clothes."

"A journal?"

"It's leather bound. I don't think it would stand out that way."

He rubbed his jaw for a second, then nodded. "Just be sure to use the pens we provide. In fact, I think the idea of keeping a journal is an excellent one. Many ladies of the time did, I'm told. And as for the other things, we've engaged a variety of companies to supply items that you'd use everyday—sundries, toiletries, accessories—your entire wardrobe, of course, will be provided, including shoes and underthings. That goes for the stationery, dinner service, crystal, silver, wine, various supplies for the servants, as well and oh, did you read up on the masquerade ball? Wardrobe is creating a special authentic costume for you to wear to the ball. You can see that with so much effort being made to create as authentic a setting as possible, it's vitally important that you do your part in acting the part."

I gave him a brave smile, brave because I was suddenly struck with how unsuitable I was for this role—not only because of my weight, but because I simply was not raised by duchess standards. How would I eat with servants watching me? Then again, I doubted if Tonio the architect was brought up in a ducal household. "I'll do my best."

"I have every confidence you will." He tipped his head to the side for a moment, looking at me just as Lui and Len had earlier. "You'll quite enjoy yourself, you know. You'll be the mistress of the house. You won't have a care in the world except picking out what frock to wear and whether to go riding in the morning or in the afternoon. We have a lady's maid for you, naturally, a wonderful woman who is very experienced in the period. All you have to do is enjoy yourself and live a life most of the world would sell their souls to experience."

My stomach did a half gainer at that thought.

"Now, on the schedule for this evening is a brief audition—just an interview that we do on film for archival purposes—then I expect the good ladies in wardrobe would like you in for a second fitting, and then we're off in the morning, very early I'm afraid, but we wish to start filming with breakfast. Our film crew will go out to Cheshire later tonight, but they will primarily be filming the servants first thing in the morning, so we'll have time to smuggle you into the house and get you dressed before you make your first appearance." Leon looked up from a stack of papers as someone opened the door. "Oh, Ppoiyo, Tonio, what excellent timing. Come in, I want you both to meet our lifesaver. Akikoroid Chan, this is Ppoiyo Matsun, our head cameraman, and Tonio Edgerton, who'll be taking on the role of his grace, the Duke of Bridgewater. You'll be working very closely with Ppoiyo, Akikoroid, since he'll shoot all the principle photography, and, of course, you'll get to know Tonio very well during the next month."

Two men entered the room, the first a thin, wiry guy with sky blue hair and white highlights on the sides of his face. Behind him, a dark shadow flickered in the hallway, then Ppoiyo moved aside to allow the dishy man in the photo to enter. My stomach jumped and did a front somersault with a half twist as I got a good look at him—he was even more handsome in person than he was in a stiff, posed picture. His eyes were what caught my attention. They weren't just light as the picture showed; they were a clear, crystal blue, a light topaz blue, a summer sky in early morning blue, framed with sooty black lashes so thick I wondered if he had to comb them each morning to keep them from getting tangled.

Those beautiful eyes, a bit wary as they studied me, suddenly warmed as he stuck out his hand, saying,"It's a pleasure to meet you, Akikoroid. I can't tell you how thankful I am to know you've agreed to take on the role. I hope you are free for dinner tonight. I'd like to talk about the project with you."

I opened my mouth to say hello, nice to be here, hope you like like large women, but all that came out was olives. And three martinis. And the potted meat and black bread and. . . well, basically everything I'd eaten in the last five hours. It all came up, barfed ignominiously onto the plush carpet, a bit of it splashing up onto Tonio's neat black loafers.

Lui closed his eyes in horror and slapped a hand to his forehead as I stood hunched over, one hand clutching the back of the leather chair, the other hand twisted into the front of my thin gauze dress to keep it from dangling into the mess. I released the chair long enough to take the handful of tissues that Leon thrust from behind me, moping my mouth as I straightened up.

Tonio looked from his soiled shoes up to my flustered, sweaty, tears-of-mortification-shining-in-my-eyes face and withdrew his hand. "I take it that's a no to dinner?"

* * *

><p>AN:

I'm sorry that this late. OTL||| This semester is finally ending by May 5th, so I'll be out of college for about two-three weeks, so I'll try to update more often after that. Again, I'm sorry for making some of you wait. OTL

By the way, was this chapter funny? Humor courtesy of my friends because humor is not my thing. |D

Oh, I was so close to forgetting this, the reason for all of those other names that're Tonio's family are all Italian because he and Prima may be Engloids, but either fandom or official info deems them to be Italian because of their names but because of what they are, that's why they're English. Don't know if my logic makes sense, even in hindsight, so it's just going to have to be something that kind of needs to be dealt with. It's not like this fandom makes much sense when it comes to Fanfiction, anyway. Or my head's just not in it's right state, so jumbled. OTL


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